


Random Rules

by iamocelost



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, SAS era Liquid, bad attempts at understanding the British
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-12 18:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7117816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamocelost/pseuds/iamocelost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how many times Eli calls him "old," Ocelot keeps showing up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I know that a lot of what I say has been lifted off of men's room walls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xjanka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xjanka/gifts).



> As xjanka pointed out, there are sadly too few Ocelot/Liquid stories, so here's another.
> 
> It's now impossible for me to think about young Liquid (especially with Ocelot) without a little nod to disgracepeddler's  True Blue , and Sammy is a little hat tip in that direction. (Oh Samuel, you poor kid.)
> 
> Also, everything I imagine Mantis and Eli doing post-TPP, I now owe entirely to Mothbats and [ Map of the Mind ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5516150/chapters/12736610), so you'll see that as well.
> 
> The title of the work and the chapter are taken from "Random Rules" by the Silver Jews, which got stuck in my head early into developing this fic and seemed to kinda fit. Telling someone that he was hospitalized for approaching perfection seems like something Eli would do.

**1990, United Kingdom**

The bar that Eli’s new comrades had taken him to was in a working class neighborhood, with a dirty floor, rickety chairs, and most patrons emptying a shot before nursing their pint. Mickey, who had suggested the place, was greeted with cries of surprise and excitement, and the obnoxiously loud bartender practically smothered him with her tits when she hugged him. A hero’s homecoming: little round-faced Mickey Davers had gone away to serve his country like a good lad -- and never you mind what they said about him getting mixed up with Cyril’s boys and that being the reason his da sent him off to the RAF -- and now, here he was, six years later, in his smart little SAS beret, which Mickey had insisted on wearing despite the fact that they were all dressed in civvies. The bartender, who Mickey called Clem, took a look at the four of them before declaring that the first round for Mickey’s friends was on the house and bustling away to line up shot glasses on the bar.

It was painfully cliche, but Eli wasn’t above accepting free alcohol. 

It was his first night out since he’d shown up at Sennybridge months previously, muscling his way into the SAS selection proceedings through sheer force of will, despite having no previous armed forces experience, at least none that anyone around here was willing to recognize. It had taken him downing a number of the MPs instructed to remove him from the premises before the officer in charge had just rolled his eyes and added Eli’s name to the candidates list, muttering to himself that the kid would wash out in a few days anyway. By the time he got back from jungle training in Belize, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that, whatever his background was, Eli White was made for special forces. There was also no doubt that he would be hell on his commanding officers. 

While Mickey continued to bask in his new-found popularity, Ross gestured to a table in the back corner, and Eli shrugged in response, looking down at Sammy, who shrugged as well. The three of them settled in, with Sammy squeezing herself into the corner seat and Eli sitting next to her, where he could still see the door. Sammy was one of two women who had made it through selection with them. She was small, at least compared to the military men around her and to her fellow female recruit Fredericks, and quiet, but her backbone was a steel rod. Not once had she outright refused to do anything in the months of training, but she always somehow managed to get her own way, from patrol assignments and DSs to a prime space in the rainforest canopy during an unexpected downpour. “A regular Bartleby,” Eli had once huffed at her. She had smiled slightly and said, “I would rather not, sir.”

Ross sat across from Sammy, his eyes surveying the room, and Eli noted how they paused on the door leading into the back of the bar before returning to where Mickey was shaking hands with a few men going grey. “Think Mickey brought us here just so he could get his knob polished by a bunch of old farts who know his dad?”

Eli snorted but said nothing as Clem arrived with four shots of whiskey and four pints of bitter. “Enjoy,” she said, with a wink to Eli. The blond man frowned deeply at her back and Ross grinned. “C’mon, White,” he said, lifting his shot glass in a small salute. “What’s wrong with Clem? She obviously likes you. Cheers.” 

Sammy echoed the nicety before tipping her own shot back, but Eli just swallowed his, letting the slight burn calm his annoyance with Ross and his womanizing ways. “The tits,” he answered Ross’s question. “They’re too big.”

Ross scoffed, eyes following Clem’s ass as she pranced back over to Mickey. “No such thing, my boy. One day, you’ll learn what’s good.” 

Eli bristled visibly at the comment on his age -- he was a good five years younger than pretty much anyone else in their troop. “While you were learning to not shoot your own dick off,” he spat, “I was fucking my way across Europe.” Granted, most of it had been with Mantis, the two of them young and horny and groping in the dark as they worked their way up Africa and onto the Continent, with some idea of Mantis getting home, though Eli had never been quite clear on where that was.

“Wanking in a series of hostel bunks doesn’t count as fucking your way across Europe,” Ross replied absently. 

When Eli was younger, he would have thrown himself across the table, the knife that was a permanent fixture in his boot in hand. But now, he was older, and he had learned that long term planning -- at least in the form of not immediately killing people who got on his nerves -- was more effective for achieving his ultimate goal. So he clenched his fist until his fingernails bit into his palm and pictured how Big Boss’s face would look when Eli twisted a knife into his gut.

“He’s right,” Sammy said quietly beside him, “they are too big.” 

Ross turned to look at her in shock. “You’re not a lesbo, are you, Sammy?”

Sammy just shrugged and took a drink from her beer. “It’s a question of proportion,” she continued after swallowing. 

Ross was obviously not sure if she was joking or not and Eli grinned smugly at the confusion on his face. “Is this why Rickert hasn’t been able to get in your pants?” Ross asked.

Sammy made a face of disgust. “Rickert can’t get in my pants because he’s a grade-A asshole.”

This, at least, made Ross laugh and he dropped the subject. They were halfway through their pints when Mickey finally sat down with them, tossing back his shot with a sound of complete satisfaction. “Mates,” he said with an annoying sense of decorum, “I will be very surprised if we pay for a single drink all night.” As if on cue, one of the old men shuffled over with hands full of shot glasses, sloshing no small amount of whiskey onto the floor. “Drink up!” he announced, distributing his wealth around the table. “From what Mickey says, you’ve got a lot from the past year to forget!” He laughed too loudly, and Ross and Mickey laughed with him. Sammy smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Eli’s face just settled into its habitual scowl. He took the shot though. It was the only way to deal with the inanity spewing out of everyone’s mouths. 

When another imbecile joined the first with his own offering of alcohol, Eli finished the last of his pint and excused himself to take a piss through clenched teeth. The men’s room was poorly lit and stank, but Eli took a deep breath anyway as he unzipped his trousers before the urinal. He didn’t even jump when the shadow in the corner spoke in a lazy drawl. “Looks like SAS has been good to you.” The bootsteps on the tile floor lacked the jingle of spurs, but the gait was unmistakable. 

Eli refused to look over his shoulder as he said, “Daddy send you to check up on me?”

Ocelot leaned against the wall Eli was facing, just inside his peripheral vision. He looked pretty much the same as he had six years ago, at least at first glance. He was wearing a dark leather jacket over a worn-looking red scarf, and though his revolvers weren’t immediately visible, Eli was sure they were there. “I haven’t spoke to your father in about a year now,” Ocelot answered.

Eli shook the last drops of piss of his dick and tucked himself away. “Then why the hell are you here, old man?”

“Can’t a man worry about his best friend’s son?”

Eli turned to glare at the Russian, who wore a calm expression, his lips just quirking up into a smile. There were a few more lines around his mouth and eyes, but Ocelot lounged just as gracefully as ever. Eli’s eyes drank him in just as thirstily as ever, and he hated both of these things equally. “We both know he doesn’t give a fuck about me,” Eli spat in an attempt to cover how much he was enjoying seeing Ocelot again, “so why should you?”

Ocelot raised an eyebrow, and Eli put some effort into keeping his face still and not bright red. “You have a lot of potential,” Ocelot said. “Be a shame to waste it.”

Eli raised an eyebrow of his own.

Ocelot chuckled. “I’m here as a middle man. Someone wants to offer you a job.”

Eli huffed. “I’m currently gainfully employed, thanks very much.”

“And it’s exactly that employment that makes you an excellent candidate for this job.”

“Well what is it?”

Ocelot chuckled again. Eli did his best to suppress the shiver that ran down his spine at the sound, but his best didn’t cut it and he could see that Ocelot knew what kind of effect he was having. The Russian smiled, and it almost looked genuine, even if it was predatory. “I’m sure your friends will start to get worried if you’re in here too long.” He extended a hand clad in red leather, a white card between the fingers. “If you can slip away later,” he said as Eli took it from him. An address and a room number was printed in careful lettering and black ink on one side; the other was blank. By the time Eli had taken a look, Ocelot was halfway to the door. “By the by,” he said, “Your boy Mantis is doing alright for himself. Just thought you’d like to know.”

And then Ocelot was gone.

Eli put the card in his pocket and washed his hands, deliberately ignoring how hot he felt. He went back out into the bar and sat back down in his seat, not even looking around since he knew Ocelot was long gone. There was another shot in front of him, so he tipped it back, completely ignoring the chatter that was starting to grate against the inside of his skull a little. He felt a hand press against his thigh under the table and looked over to see Sammy looking up at him. “Okay?” she asked. 

“Fine,” he huffed, plastering a sneer on his face. He glanced up; Ross was over at the bar chatting with Clem, and Mickey had scooted over to let one of the old men sit next to him, while two others stood nearby. Eli didn’t care to try to decipher what they were talking about. In fact, he didn’t care to be here any longer. “I’m leaving,” he said shortly. “See you back at base.”

When he had been a kid and fresh out on his own, the first thing he had learned to enjoy was the feeling of being able to walk wherever he well pleased. Then it had been jungles and savannah, but with Mantis he had found the thrill of wandering a city with all its alleys and ladders and rooftops. There had been little point in trying to hide his pleasure and awe at the giant buildings to climb and explore from his psychic companion and, while Mantis was clear in his dislike of the sheer number of people around him, they hadn’t needed a shared language to know they both appreciated the freedom and security offered by the relative anonymity and easy access to supplies. Cairo, Istanbul, Rome...they’d gone from train to train, squatting in rooms at the finest hotels or sleeping under the sky on their roofs, grasping at each other in the night, Mantis using telekinesis as well as his hands to get to Eli’s skin and Eli wrapping his fingers into the straps of Mantis’s mask as the psychic moaned behind it. Eli had a goal -- to kill Big Boss -- but he didn’t have much of a plan, and Mantis just wanted to follow Eli, so for a few years, they just...wandered.

Then something had changed. Eli never knew what it was, only that one day in Frankfurt, he had come back to the room they had taken over and Mantis was closed off from him, shielded from his mental prying and unresponsive to his verbal queries. Eli had been worried, then, as this went on for several days, angry, and finally, he had left, deciding that he had wasted enough time living out this little bohemian fantasy.

But walking through Manchester now, letting his feet move without thinking, Eli was reminded of the pleasant comfort of Mantis hovering just over his shoulder. He scowled, hunching his shoulders forward and digging his hands more deeply into his jacket pockets. He blamed Ocelot for this round of nostalgia, in part due to his final remark and in part due to the fact that seeing Revolver “Shalashaska” Ocelot in all his glory had made Eli feel like he was fucking 12 again.

He used to sneak along one of the struts above the gun range and wait for Ocelot to come out for his regular practice while most everyone else on Mother Base was at dinner. He told himself that it was because Ocelot was his greatest threat and he needed to watch for the Russian’s weakness. And if he had occasionally left cum drying on the metal, that was just because it was one of the few places he could get some privacy, with Flaming Buffalo and Stone Mastodon barging into his room whenever they felt like. With a few years of separation from them, Eli had been able to look back on those memories and laugh at little baby White Mamba with his first crush, assuring himself that he’d never be so foolish again. 

Maybe you never get over your first crush.

By this point, Eli was feeling a fuzziness around the edges that meant those shots were finally catching up with him, and maybe that was why he didn’t immediately flinch away from the thought. Instead he thought about how good it would feel to punch Ocelot in the face, how good it would feel to have Ocelot retaliate…

Because all this really began the very first time Ocelot had slammed him into the ground. 

Eli stopped walking, growling a little in frustration and rolling his neck around on his shoulders. He pulled Ocelot’s card from his pocket and started in the direction of the address.

The hotel was rathole, but that didn’t surprise him. He knocked on the door Ocelot had noted and waited for the older man to let him in. Ocelot opened the door, missing his leather jacket but with that same almost genuine predatory smile. Maybe, thought Eli as he stepped through the door frame, maybe it's genuine because Ocelot really is just a predator.

“I'm glad you came,” said Ocelot, gesturing for Eli to sit in the room's only chair. “Want a drink?”

Eli sneered as he settled his right ankle on his left knee. “I'll pass. Where's Mantis?”

Ocelot took his time refilling a glass -- where the hell had he gotten an actual glass in this dump? -- from a bottle of vodka before sitting on the bed across from the younger man. “He's working for the KGB, with their psy-ops team.”

“Voluntarily?” Eli had distinct memories of Mantis’s nightmares, featuring Soviet scientists and Soviet cells.

Ocelot snorted. “I don't think anyone can make that kid do anything he doesn't want to anymore.”

Eli sighed a little in relief. “Good.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “Who are you working for now?”

Ocelot took a sip from his glass. “Officially, I'm retired from espionage. So, I do a lot of travelling, pick up odd jobs here and there.”

Eli tilted his head skeptically. “So you aren't Big Boss’s right hand man anymore?”

Ocelot’s smile tightened. “You know that was Miller's job.”

Eli smiled himself, feeling pleased at the little crack in Ocelot’s cool exterior. “And what's this job you have for me?”

Ocelot didn't hesitate to change the subject. “The SIS wants you as a sleeper agent.” 

“The SIS wants a sleeper agent in the SAS?” Eli said slowly. “Why?”

Ocelot shrugged. “I'm just the middle man here, but you don't need special clearance to see that the situation in Iraq is going to require boots on the ground sooner rather than later. My guess is the SIS thinks you'll be able to go places their own operatives won't.”

“And what's in it for me?”

“They pay generously, but the main thing you'll be interested in is the higher security clearance.”

Eli stifled a grin; the old man got one thing right.

“It won't do you much good now,” Ocelot went on, “but after things in the Middle East quiet down a bit, I'm sure you'll find a way to put a little extra intel to use.”

Eli made a show of thinking it over, and Ocelot waited patiently. They both knew that Eli had nothing to lose by accepting the offer. Instead, Eli used the time to study Ocelot and Ocelot looked nonchalant about being studied, planting a feet a little wider and settling his elbows on his knees. For a second, Eli’s eyes were drawn downward to settle on the Russian’s crotch, and when he snapped them back up he saw that Ocelot had noticed, so he attempted to cover his embarrassment with a lascivious smile. “Did they know about our...history when they sent you to recruit me?” he asked.

“They didn't send me to recruit you,” Ocelot answered after taking another sip from his glass. “They asked me to recruit someone from an SAS air troop likely to be successful at basic intelligence gathering, infiltration, and extraction if called upon. I selected you.”

Eli felt a familiar rage start to boil up. “Because I've got the pedigree for it?”

“Because I saw your file from the selection process,” Ocelot answered without hesitation. “And I know first hand how resourceful you can be.” He stood, set his glass on the floor, and closed the short distance between him and Eli until he was looking down at the younger man. “No one needs to see your DNA to see that you're a hell of a soldier.”

As he watched Ocelot’s eyes roam over his body, Eli was suddenly struck with the thought that Ocelot might prefer just fucking him to fucking with him. He felt a flush travel up his chest as the blood started to roar in his ears, but he kept the sneer in his face as he settled the foot that had been resting on his knee to the floor, allowing Ocelot to lean in that much closer. “Still can’t get the boss to fuck you?” Eli asked aloofly, doing his best to sound above Ocelot’s depravities. “Trying for the next best thing?”

Ocelot’s smile just widened, and he bent forward to place his hands on the arms of the chair, bringing his face mere inches from Eli’s and caging his body with his arms. “He was well past twelve when he got his first army,” he purred.

There was a part of Eli’s brain that stepped back to ask what Ocelot could possibly be hoping to get through this flattery, or even, jumping a few steps ahead, through fucking him. That part of his brain was trying to evaluate what degree of influence Ocelot had on him and, consequently, what degree of control his father had on him. It was also calculating the relative vulnerability of a sexual exchange against the possible power he might gain over the Russian. 

A much more immediate part of Eli’s brain was eighteen and all too aware of how long it had been since he’d had any stimulation besides his own hand. That part of his brain registered the sudden jolt that Ocelot’s compliment sent to his cock without bothering to ask what it might mean. That part of his brain took control of his body, leaning forward to press his lips forcefully against Ocelot’s as a hand reached behind the older man’s head to pull him closer. For a second, Ocelot just let Eli ravish his mouth, then he pressed hard against the other until Eli’s head bumped the back of the chair and Ocelot’s teeth were tearing at his lips. Not to be outdone, Eli leveraged himself out of the chair, pushing Ocelot back, only to find himself caught by a wrist and spun around until he was flat on his back on the bed. Ocelot was between his legs, looking down at him again, and Eli shivered under the intensity of the gaze. 

Then Ocelot was on him again, pushing his jacket from his shoulders and nipping along his jaw and his neck as hips bucked ever so slightly, rubbing one erection against another. Eli clamped his mouth down against a moan, but there was still a growl in the back of his throat that made Ocelot chuckle. The cold angles of a revolver were uncomfortably pressed into Eli’s hip, but he wrapped hands around Ocelot’s belt to pull the man closer, snarling a little as bit the skin over the Russian collarbone and earning a little moan of his own. Ocelot pushed himself back up, hands grabbing Eli’s wrists and holding them in front of him. Eli struggled halfheartedly; he figured he could take Ocelot, if need be, but if the old man needed to feel in charge to get off, Eli was willing to play along.

Ocelot’s grip remained firm even as Eli pulled back, and his eyes settled levelly on Eli’s face. “You really want to do this?” he asked, in a soft drawl that couldn’t entirely hide the lust underneath. 

“What’s wrong, old man?” Eli scoffed, trying in earnest to jerk his wrists out of Ocelot’s grasp and, to his surprise, failing, resulting in another lurched of his cock that he didn’t think too hard about. He kept his arrogant mask in place, though. “Having second thoughts about taking advantage of your best friend’s son?”

The look on Ocelot’s face was almost sad. “In my line of work, consent is what separates business from pleasure.” He carefully let go of Eli’s wrists and took a step back. 

Eli whined a little as he sat up, worried that Ocelot was just going to tell him to leave with his uncomfortably tight pants. “Yes, I want it,” he spat. “Happy?”

That almost genuine predatory smile answered Eli’s question. “Strip,” was what Ocelot said as he lazily pulled the scarf from around his neck and began undoing the buttons on his own shirt.

Eli complied quickly, shrugging the rest of the way out of his jacket and pulling his long-sleeved shirt over his head. The selection process had filled out his muscle tone nicely, and Eli was pleased to see Ocelot’s unabashed appreciation for it as the older man eyed his torso hungrily. Eli worked the fly of his pants more slowly, stopping outright as Ocelot’s shirt fluttered to the floor; the older man wasn’t as cut as Eli but the sight of his hip lines disappearing behind his gun belt made Eli’s mouth water. His hand went back to their work of tugging off his pants, but he was equally distracted by Ocelot carefully biting the tips of each glove finger, working off the right one before repeating the procedure with the left, his gaze never leaving Eli’s face. The blond swallowed, fumbled with his boots, then pants, until he was down to just briefs and dog tags. 

Despite Eli’s obvious impatience, Ocelot continued to take his time, carefully laying aside his gun belt and removing his own boots before undoing the button of his pants and sliding them down narrow hips, underwear with them. The cock that sprang free was thick and uncut, and Ocelot sauntered as nonchalantly as ever to where Eli was seated on the bed.

Ocelot’s kiss this time was more controlled and all too quick for Eli’s liking, and he huffed in frustration as Ocelot broke away until he felt the other man’s fingers hook into the waist of his briefs and tug them down. Eli leaned back and lifted his hips to help, feeling pleased again at the appreciation Ocelot showed his own member. “Like what you see?” he asked smugly.

The sensation of Ocelot’s tongue running up his entire length shut him up quickly. In fact, Eli felt like his brain short-circuited a little as every bit of attention went to processing the feeling of lips wrapping around his swollen head. Warm wet tongue brushed right under the ridge as Ocelot’s cheeks hollowed slightly and his lips moved further down the shaft. And when the older man, on his knees between Eli’s legs, opened his eyes to look straight up at him with his mouth full of cock, Eli could only groan and throw his head back against the bed. 

For a while, the only sounds were Eli’s ragged breathing and the wet noises of Ocelot’s ministrations. There was nothing about it that was intended to get Eli off, he quickly realized. Ocelot was just toying with him, but Eli was determined not to give him the satisfaction of breaking. Still, as the minutes stretched on and Ocelot showed no sign of tiring with his little games, Eli’s resolve began to get lost in the fire pooling in his lower belly. He tried bucking against Ocelot’s mouth, but that just earned him an iron grip on his hips. “Can we get a move on?” Eli growled. “I don’t want you dying on me before I get off.” 

Ocelot just looked smug as his lips pulled off Eli’s cock with a small, wet pop. He ran his hands lightly along Eli’s thighs as he stood up. “Scoot up,” he ordered as he dug through a small travel bag beside the bed that Eli hadn’t noticed until now. Eli worked his way up the bed until his head hit the pillows, and Ocelot joined him, a bottle of lube in hand. Determined to seize some modicum of control (even as the idea of Ocelot pushing inside him made his eyes roll back in his head a little), Eli grabbed the other man’s hair and pulled him into another sloppy kiss, demonstrating how little patience he had left with nips to Ocelot’s lips and the force of his tongue. He was a little surprised that, instead of pulling away or wrestling for the upper hand, Ocelot moaned into Eli’s onslaught, rubbing a palm down Eli’s side to grasp his hip and rut into his thigh. Pleased with this reaction, Eli flattened his other hand against Ocelot’s ass, encouraging the Russian’s jerky thrusts and twisting his body so his own cock got some much needed friction. 

As Eli worked his mouth down Ocelot’s neck, biting hard enough to make the older man hiss, Ocelot slicked his fingers with the lube and pulled their bodies apart as his hand found its way between Eli’s legs. When Ocelot’s fingers first brushed Eli’s hole, he tensed -- he’d experimented on his own, but never been penetrated by another person -- but Ocelot massaged gently, if insistently, until Eli slowly relaxed, sighing into the sensation. He licked and sucked at Eli’s ear and neck as he worked in one finger, then a second, and after the initial burn, Eli began to feel an entirely different heat work it’s way from his core out to his limbs. “Damn it, Ocelot,” he hissed, “just fuck me already.”

Ocelot hummed a little. “Whatever you want, kid,” he said, taking one last nip at Eli’s neck before turning away to open the condom he had placed on the bedside table and roll it onto his own very erect cock. Bending his knees, Eli watched with slightly glassy eyes as Ocelot squirted more lube on himself, spreading it with a few long, steady strokes before positioning himself between Eli’s legs.

Maybe Eli hadn’t done as good a job at hiding his nervousness as he thought, because when Ocelot rubbed the head of his cock against Eli’s hole, he said, “If you want me to slow down or stop, just say so or tap out.” Eli wanted to say something scathing in reply, but Ocelot didn’t give him a chance; the first shallow thrust made him hiss as he felt a sharp ache. Ocelot didn’t stop though, ostensibly ignoring the furrow in Eli’s brow as he slowly rocked deeper into Eli’s ass, panting slightly, and Eli focused on not tensing up. When Ocelot nudged against that one sweet spot, though, it got much easier, and the next groan that escaped Eli’s lips was all pleasure. Ocelot seemed to take that as a sign to pick up the pace, gripping Eli’s hips for leverage as he pushed in a little deeper. “Fuck, Eli,” he said, “you feel good.”

Eli crossed his ankles behind Ocelot’s back to pulled him in deeper. “Best lay of your life,” he panted, wrapping his fingers around his cock and tugging in time with Ocelot, eyes locked on the other man’s body. “Now let’s see if you can actually make me come.”

Ocelot accepted the challenge, angling his thrusts to nail Eli’s prostate each time and rolling his hips to prolong the sensation. Eli’s breath came in shorter and shorter gasps, and his hand worked furiously over his shaft until he stopped breathing entirely and his mind went completely blank. Ocelot’s continued thrusts prolonged his climax, body clenching long after he had shot his load over his chest, until he felt like it couldn’t take it anymore and a feral noise built in his throat. He heard a low growl from Ocelot and his hips slowed, and Eli opened his eyes long enough to watch his orgasm wash over the older’s man face, head thrown back and mouth making a perfect little “O.” 

For a moment, they were both perfectly still apart from heaving chests, then Ocelot pulled out to sit on the side of the bed. He lightly patted Eli’s thigh. “You did good,” he said.

Eli had to swallow thickly before he could respond. “Fuck you.”

Ocelot chuckled as he stood. “Maybe next time.” He tossed a box of tissues onto the bed next to Eli then wandered off into the bathroom. Letting his eyes close again, Eli groped blindly until he had a handful of the coarse, thin paper to wipe lazily against the mess on his chest and the slickness between his legs. Discarding the wad on the floor, he sat up slowly, trying not to let a slack-jawed grin spread over his face, but, damn, he felt good, in spite of the ache that was starting to develop in his ass.

By the time Ocelot came out of the bathroom, sans condom, Eli had found his briefs and pants. Ocelot brushed past him to his bag, and Eli assumed he was looking for clothes, but instead the Russian pulled out a thin folder, which he handed to Eli. “Need a signature on a few things,” he said as Eli took the folder. “There’s also signs, countersigns, and a few names. Memorize them.”

“I’m not exactly in the system,” said Eli, picking up the cheap ballpoint with the hotel’s name that was laying on the nightstand. 

Ocelot snorted. “Yes you are. You think SAS would have let you in if you weren’t?”

Eli looked at him with open surprise. “Did you…”

Ocelot nodded. “Eli White has been a British citizen since I first learned what name you gave the day you signed up for selection.”

“Why?” Eli asked suspiciously, pen poised over the paper and eyeing Ocelot over his shoulder.

“Like I said,” Ocelot replied as he shrugged, “you’ve got a lot of potential. Training with the SAS wasn’t the worst use of your time.”

Eli just rolled his eyes and scrawled “Eli White” along the indicated lines. He was sure that Ocelot had an ulterior motive, but at the moment he was willing to leech of the older man’s misplaced sense of responsibility for him. He passed those papers back to Ocelot and looked over the final sheet with its sparse list of phrases, names, and phone numbers. A few moments was all he needed to commit it to memory, and he wasn’t surprised when Ocelot, with his underwear back on, immediately set it alight in the sink when he handed it back.

Eli finished dressing in silence, not really sure what the usual protocol was when you slept with a man twice your age who happened to be very close with your father. Ocelot seemed completely unperturbed, finding his glass of vodka on the floor and sipping on it as he sat on the side of the bed, watching Eli fumble with his boots. “I don’t suppose you’re done lurking in the toilet to get a glimpse of my cock, are you?” Eli said, fighting off the shyness he suddenly felt. 

Ocelot just smiled slightly. “I doubt you’ll be seeing me for a while, Eli.”

Which of course meant that he would be seeing Eli, but being the sly little fuck that he was, Eli wouldn’t be the wiser. Eli shrugged as he pulled his jacket back on and stalked toward the exit, muttering under his breath. He wrenched open the door and just caught Ocelot’s final words as he let it slam shut behind him. “Good luck, White Mamba.”


	2. I tell you they make it so you can't shake hands when they make your hands shake

_1994, Cyprus_

Ocelot was well-aware that everyone thought his interest in Eli was simply his ongoing obsession with John in a different form, that he was a pathetic human being striving desperately to get as close as he could to the legendary Big Boss, even if it meant seducing a clone half his age. Some days, he supposed that the misconception could be useful eventually. 

Some days, he was mildly disgusted that even the people he had chosen to ally himself with could be so damn stupid. 

If anyone could understand a kid overwhelmed by the expectations of his genes, who hid his anxieties about failure with a smart mouth and a burning desire to fight the whole world, it was Ocelot. He had always known it was a facade, even if it was a facade that Eli had acted out so many times he now believed in it. Quick, minimal strokes of psychological warfare, he’d told Miller ten years ago, and he would have known exactly which points to prod with Eli, because once they had been his own.

According to the man in charge of the facility Eli had been held in, who had been surprisingly easy to break despite being an interrogator himself, he never got the kid to talk. When they decided to try brainwashing instead -- to at least put Eli’s skills to use even if they could get no information -- he had first attempted to redirect Eli’s pent-up hatred and contempt toward Western forces, but Eli had proven too chaotic, too difficult to handle in the field. So the interrogator used techniques that Ocelot had tweaked himself when creating the phantom to suppress Eli’s personality entirely. Ocelot could tell from the way the interrogator had described the process that it had been something of a hack job, done too quickly and with too little skill to have much lasting influence. Eli’s handlers from the field, who had been in Ocelot’s careful hands as well, had recounted a few incidences of Eli seemingly triggered by sounds or smells and only being kept on check through the quick use of a drug similar to the ones Ocelot has dosed himself in ‘84.

Despite being very aware of their incompetence, Ocelot couldn’t deny that they had achieved results: the thin, pale man he faced in the same hospital on Cyprus he had been in ten years earlier was almost unrecognizable. It wasn’t so much that his blonde hair was shaved down to a mere fuzz over his head, or that his always-slight frame was bordering on gauntness. It was that his features were completely smooth, no furrow in the brow, no sneer on the lips. His eyes just gazed down out of sunken sockets on the blankets over his legs, arms hanging limp at his sides.

He had offered no resistance to the Marines who had extracted him or to the nurses and doctors who had tended his wounds. And now, with Ocelot standing over him, watching, he didn’t even raise his eyes.

“Hello, Eli,” Ocelot finally said. He waited a few moments for a response that never came. “Look at me,” he ordered gently.

Eli’s gaze slowly lifted to Ocelot’s face.

“Do you remember me?” Ocelot asked.

Eli was silent a second, then said in a flat voice, “I don’t know.”

“My name is Ocelot. We first met in 1984 when I worked for your father.”

“Okay.”

“I’m checking you out of the hospital today.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll need to get dressed.”

Eli looked at Ocelot blankly. Ocelot wasn’t surprised; the Iraqi interrogator had told him, after Ocelot had removed around six of his fingernails, that the primary means of managing Eli had been to break down his ability to imagine and therefore perform tasks of multiple steps, to make him completely reliant on a handler’s individual instructions to complete mission objectives. “Get out of bed and take off your gown,” Ocelot instructed. Eli complied, standing on skinny legs and removing his only vestige of clothing without any indication of embarrassment. “Now put these on,” Ocelot continued, handing Eli a bundle. 

Once the younger man was dressed in nondescript fatigues, Ocelot led him out to a car. They drove to a little village house outside Paphos, a slightly unkempt abode that was, after a long line of dummy companies, owned by FOXHOUND. On paper, FOXHOUND had nothing to do with the assault on the facility that held Eli and several other POWs, but the Marines on the ground had immediately deferred to Ocelot’s requests regarding the interrogation of the Iraqis and Eli’s treatment. While Ocelot had never been on FOXHOUND’s official roster, the name of Big Boss carried a certain weight, and he’d been obeyed without having to provide any other credentials. 

Eli followed Ocelot into the house. “We’re going to be staying while I figure out what the Iraqis did to you,” Ocelot explained as he led Eli to one of the spartan bedrooms. “This will be your room. You have free roam of the house and the immediate vicinity, up to a hundred feet.”

“Okay,” Eli said. Same flat tone. It was making Ocelot angry, but he kept his face and features calm. Showing anger right now would be detrimental to what he was trying to accomplish. He looked over at the younger man and noticed that his limbs were starting to tremble. It had been in the Iraqis’ best interests to keep Eli physically whole, but they hadn’t provided sufficient food or activity for him to maintain his former level of fitness, especially after the year or so of regular torture. Eli had few injuries, the doctor had said, but he was weak and easily tired. “Would you like to lie down?” Ocelot asked him. 

“Yes.” 

Ocelot gestured to the bed, and Eli delicately stretched himself across the covers, his eyes closing. “I’ll let you know when dinner is ready,” Ocelot said, leaving the other man to nap.

Over the next few days, Ocelot made a point of cultivating a predictable routine for Eli, something stable in the middle of the mental turmoil he intended to put Eli through. Every morning, he woke the younger man at 700. They ate breakfast and drank coffee, then for the next three hours, Ocelot would put Eli under hypnosis and ask him questions about his past or show him photos from his time on Mother Base and his brief period with SAS. They would break for lunch, and afterwards Ocelot would oversee Eli’s physical therapy and training exercises. By this point Eli was generally exhausted, so Ocelot would set him down on the stool in the shower stall and wash him thoroughly while Eli helped as much as his weak limbs were able. Eli napped until dinner, then he and Ocelot would sit in the lounge or on the roof of the house and talk, which was mostly Ocelot talking and Eli giving monosyllabic responses, until the sun had been set a couple of hours. Eli would go back to his room and Ocelot would polish his guns and consider his approach for the following days hypnosis session.

After the fifth day of this, Ocelot was feeling frustrated. On the one hand, he realized that it took a significant amount of time for the drugs Eli had been given to leave his system entirely and that progress would be much easier once they did. On the other, the flat tone and blank face on Eli angered him to no end. That face was born to scoff and sneer, that mouth should be spitting fire, those eyes should be glaring at him each and every time he demanded Eli do another rep, pushing his body beyond its current capacity. Ocelot wished that he could kill the Iraqi interrogator all over again, just to satisfy his own rage at what the White Mamba had been dragged down to.

He was even beginning to consider contacting Eli’s old compatriot Mantis to see if the psychic might have more luck when there was a development. Eli had struggled through the hypnosis session, the monotone of his voice occasionally hesitating as Ocelot asked him questions about what he remembered from the past few years. He seemed more invested in the PT than usual as well, working himself until Ocelot had to help him up off the floor and support him during their walk to the shower. Even this little ritual was its own routine. Per usual, Ocelot pulled off the BDU pants and t-shirt he had provided for Eli, hands ghosting of the scars of torture (amateurs, Ocelot thought) and Eli’s previous life in the African boy armies. Rolling up his own sleeves, he set the water to an agreeable temperature and sprayed down Eli’s head, Eli tilting his head back and closing his eyes in response. There was too little hair to really worry about shampoo, so Ocelot worked the bar of soap into a lather and began running his hands over Eli’s head, neck, and shoulders, using this as a chance to search for any muscles strains or sore spots, since Eli in his current state was unlikely to mention them on his own. He rinsed the suds away before working the soap over Eli’s arms and chest, under his armpits and across his back, then back around to quickly and efficiently clean the other man’s genitals. 

Except that today, Eli’s cock twitched in Ocelot’s hand as soon as he grazed it.

As far as Ocelot had been able to determine, Eli had been completely devoid of sexual desire for some time. It wasn’t terribly surprising; often a body undergoing the levels of physical and psychological stress Eli had been subjected to would simply decide that other things were more important to survival than sex. This meant that any kind of sexual response was progress, and Ocelot felt a sense of relief that he hadn’t anticipated. 

Ocelot continued in his usual motions, but slowed down a little to gently slick the shaft with soap before running his fingers over the tip. He slid his hand back down to cup Eli’s balls and massaged softly in the name of rubbing the suds into the pliant skin. All this time, Eli’s dick continued to fill out and Eli’s eyes remain glued on Ocelot’s hand, a little wide. 

“Eli?” Ocelot asked.

“Yes?” Eli didn’t look away from where Ocelot’s hand was wrapped around the base of his cock, though it had stopped moving.

“Do you want me to continue this?”

Again a little hesitation in that flat tone, a little unsteady whisper. “Yes.”

So Ocelot began pumping Eli in earnest as the younger man let out a low groan. He hunched over a little, breathing growing ragged, as Ocelot worked his shaft with firm even strokes, twisting his wrist just a little. Very soon, Eli’s breath caught in his throat and he began to spill over Ocelot’s hand as he growled loudly through clenched teeth. Ocelot’s hand was covered in Eli’s cum, but he resisted the urge to bring it to his mouth and taste it, instead rinsing it down the drain along with the lather from Eli’s body. Eli was panting, elbows resting on knees. “Feel better?” Ocelot asked nonchalantly as he cut off the water and reached for a towel.

“Yes.” Eli slowly rubbed the towel Ocelot dropped on his shoulders over his head and down his neck. 

“Good,” said Ocelot, trying to make the tent in his pants less obvious by busying himself at the sink. He’d take care of it once Eli went off for his nap.

That night they sat on the roof, Ocelot nursing a glass of whiskey. For the first time, he’d offered Eli a drink as well, figuring that the drugs were enough out of his system to prevent serious interactions, but Eli had declined. Often, Ocelot would keep up a slow monologue about movies, books, ideas, but tonight he was quiet as the sun sank over the distant hills, considering what had happened earlier and what it might mean for tomorrow’s hypnosis session.

“Ocelot?” 

Ocelot looked up; it was the first time Eli had used his name. “Yes, Eli?”

Eli was looking at him with a very slight crease in his brow. “We met in 1984?”

“That’s right. On Mother Base. Big Boss brought you in from the jungle.”

“Big Boss.” Eli turned the words over in his mouth slowly. “Big Boss…Big Boss...Pig Boss.”

Ocelot let himself smile. “You had a jacket with a picture of Big Boss as a pig on the back.”

The furrow deepened over his eyes as Eli seemed to search his mind. “Why can’t I remember it?”

“Because your memories were repressed as part of an attempt to instill you with a different personality, a more pliable one,” Ocelot explained in a slow drawl. “The Iraqi interrogators wanted to use you as a tool, but the only way you could be made into a tool was to completely wipe out who you were, because who you were refused to be used by anyone.”

“Who was I?” There was no despair or angst in the question, just a kind of wide-eyed curiosity. It wasn’t that different from when Venom had asked him the same question.

“I think you’ll begin to remember soon enough,” Ocelot answered. “The Iraqis used a lot of drugs to keep you under control, but now you’re not on them anymore…” He shrugged.

Eli said nothing more and Ocelot respected his silence.

As Ocelot expected, Eli’s memories began returning at a steady pace, starting with more detailed accounts of his imprisonment and his brief time with SAS and moving backward. It wasn’t a painless process. Eli experienced almost constant headaches and occasionally struggled to keep food down. At the same time, he pushed his body even harder in PT. remembering what it was capable of during his SAS days and striving for it again.

This went on for about a week until one afternoon, as Ocelot leaned against the sink watching Eli lose his lunch into the toilet, he said, “You gotta slow down, kid.” 

Eli’s back heaved as he panted, stomach seemingly stilled for the moment. Ocelot filled a glass from the tap and handed it to him. Eli accepted and rinsed his mouth, spitting into the bowl before flushing. He leaned back against the wall, eyes lifting to the ceiling as he let his head drop back. “It’s not the training,” he said quietly.

Ocelot snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “I didn’t think it was, though your determination to punish your body until it complies probably isn’t helping. There’s a reason we’re using hypnosis. The hypnotic state provides a buffer for your mind as it kind of tears itself apart and pieces itself back together. Meanwhile, you’re pushing yourself to dredge up every detail of your past as quickly as you can.”

Eli didn’t deny it or scoff at Ocelot’s concern, which was a sign of how far he had to go to get back to being Eli. In fact, Eli didn’t say anything at all, just stared at the ceiling.

Ocelot sighed heavily. “Look, I’ve done this before. I know you’re experiencing high levels of anxiety, bordering on paranoia. I know you haven’t been sleeping well. I know you’ve been having nightmares.” At that, Eli looked at him, but Ocelot just pressed on. “But I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me about what’s going on.”

For a moment, Eli almost seemed to glare at him, and Ocelot felt simultaneously satisfied at this hint of White Mamba and worried that this would be the moment when Eli’s stubbornness would rear its head. Then Eli’s eyes dropped to the floor and his shoulders slumped. “Sometimes,” he said quietly, “there are things I think I remember that seem impossible, but they are just are vivid as the memories I’m sure are real.”

Ocelot sighed again and squatted to Eli’s eye level, setting a hand on the other man’s outstretched calf. “That’s very common in these situations,” he explained in a steady voice. “Sometimes an agent will implant false memories or manipulate pre-existing ones. Sometimes a person’s earlier life just doesn’t seem believable to them. And, well, you’ve had quite a life.”

“Then how do I know what’s real?” Eli’s voice wavered just a little. 

“As far as I know,” Ocelot said, standing and reaching out a hand to help Eli to his feet, “the Iraqis didn’t even attempt to implant any false memories, so everything you remember is most likely real. But if you’re not sure, you can ask.”

“You?” Eli said as Ocelot herded him out of the bathroom and into the lounge.

“We met in ‘84, but I’ve known of you since you were conceived. There are very few points in your personal history that are mysteries to me.” Ocelot looked Eli over and grimaced at what he saw there. The younger man’s body was filling back out, but the peaceful if entirely passive expression he had worn in the hospital had been replaced by dark circles and haunted eyes. Whatever anxiety Eli was feeling was only being exacerbated by his insomnia, which would also slow his mind’s ability to piece itself back together. “I’d like to give you something to help you sleep,” he said. “Just a mild sedative, along the lines of diazepam.”

Eli visibly stiffened. “I don’t want anymore drugs.”

“I understand that, but for this process to work, you need to sleep, and you aren’t doing that on your own.” Ocelot placed a hand gently on Eli’s shoulder. “You don’t have a lot of reasons to trust me, with or without being certain of your memories, so I’m not going to force the issue, but I might resort to a chokehold otherwise.”

Eli’s body remained tense, almost like he might run, for a few long moments before he said, “You think it would help?”

“Yes. You’ll get a good night’s sleep, then we can talk about your questions.”

So Eli took the pills Ocelot gave him and slept fifteen hours. The next day, he didn’t throw up once.

The questions began filtering out slowly, at random moments throughout their days, apart from Eli’s hypnosis sessions, which were becoming shorter and shorter. “Did I have a friend who could fly?” Eli asked as they ate sandwiches on the front porch of the house.

Ocelot finished chewing and swallowing before answering. “Yes, you met him in ‘84 as well. He was called Tretij Rebenok back then, but at some point you started calling him Mantis and the name stuck.”

“He had red hair, and he wore a gas mask,” Eli said, looking off into the distance.

“Yes, the mask served as a buffer against invasive thoughts from other people.”

Eli paused, face contorting a little. “We...did we...did I have sex with him?”

Ocelot coughed a little in surprise, reaching quickly for his glass of water. After he had cleared his throat, he said, “I don’t know. For a while, you and him were wandering around Europe, until around ‘86 or ‘87. I lost track of you then. But everything else you’ve described about him is accurate, so I see no reason you should distrust those memories.”

As Eli took a short breather between sets of crunches: “Did I drive a giant walking robot?”

The look of complete incredulity on Eli’s sweaty face made Ocelot bark a laugh. “Twice, actually. Once mentally, with your friend Mantis using his telekinetic abilities to move the Metal Gear according to your will, and once physically, with you actually in the pilot seat.”

“Right,” Eli said, in the voice of someone who just remembered a juicy piece of gossip. “Metal Gear.”

After another set of crunches, Eli asked, “Why?”

“Why what?” said Ocelot as he arranged a few weights for Eli’s upper body exercises.

“Why did I drive a Metal Gear?”

Eli looked almost furtive as his eyes darted around the room without landing on Ocelot, a sure sign of his discomfort. So Ocelot stopped his work to stand still and eye Eli levely. “What do you remember about it?”

There was a pause before Eli answered. “I remember chasing a man. I remember being angry.” He finally looked at Ocelot. “I think...I think I wanted to kill him.”

Ocelot nodded. “You did. Do you remember who it was?”

Eli’s face grew stoney. “Big Boss.” Ocelot nodded again. “Why did I want to kill him?” Eli asked.

Ocelot sighed and turned back to the equipment he was pulling out. “You’ll remember soon enough.”

He heard a very familiar snort behind him and smiled.

One evening, as Eli joined Ocelot in a drink on the roof of their little house: “I’m a clone.”

It wasn’t a question, and Ocelot didn’t answer.

“I’m Big Boss’s clone, aren’t I? He’s not my father, not really.”

“That’s right.” Ocelot studied Eli’s expression carefully. The younger man was leaned back in his chair, legs set wide, looking out over the hillside that spread out for several hundred meters below them before disappearing into a tree line. “Was I grown in a test tube?” he asked, a little sarcasm coloring his tone.

“Actually,” Ocelot said as he shifted his weight in his chair, “you were carried by spy named EVA, you and your twin.”

“Twin?” Eli looked over at him sharply. 

Ocelot nodded. “There were two of you. Well, there were more, but only two of you were implanted.”

“But if I’m a clone,” Eli said, his gaze on Ocelot intense, “then how come Big Boss looks so different from me?”

“The doctor who headed up the project was interested in figuring out what made Big Boss the soldier he is at a genetic level. So with you, she...fiddled a bit.”

“She...fiddled?”

Ocelot shrugged. “Drew out some of Big Boss’s recessive genetic possibilities.”

“So I’m someone’s science project?” Eli’s posture didn’t change, but the sudden flush across his cheeks belied his anger.

Ocelot shrugged again. “You started that way. You decided pretty early on you didn’t want to be anymore.”

Eli’s eyes left Ocelot and instead he glared at the treeline. The black t-shirt was beginning to cling to Eli’s frame as it should, now that he was bulking up again, and the sinking sun highlighted the line of Eli’s jaw, accentuated by the way he was clenching his teeth. There still wasn’t much hair on his head to speak of, but what there was glowed like gold. Ocelot watched as Eli took a gulp from his beer, staring at the slope of his neck, let himself remember, briefly, kissing that flesh. 

“Was that why I wanted to kill him?” Eli asked, breaking into Ocelot’s reverie. “Because I was his clone?”

Ocelot sighed, ran his free hand through his hair. “Honestly, Eli, I don’t know. I think that maybe you held him responsible for you having inferior genes. Or maybe you needed to prove that your genes weren’t inferior at all.” He made a dismissive gesture. “You were twelve. Nobody is rational when they’re twelve.”

“Was he responsible?” Eli asked. 

Ocelot snorted. “The whole project happened without his consent or knowledge. When he refused to cooperate, they went behind his back and did it anyway. And when he found out about it, he broke ties with them entirely.”

“Who’s them?”

“Man named Zero, another man named Sigint, EVA, the doctor,” Ocelot said vaguely. “Back then, me and Big Boss were working with them.”

“You keep not saying the doctor’s name,” Eli said, a little edge in his voice.

Ocelot didn’t answer, sipped his drink. Eli made a noise of exasperation in his throat and stalked away to his bedroom.

Tomorrow, thought Ocelot, we’ll start sparring. See what kind of muscle memory he’s got. 

He didn’t think about the warm feeling in his stomach at the thought of laying hands on Eli again. There had been no repeat of the incident in the shower. A few days following, Eli had insisted he was able to clean himself. But Ocelot had heard the muffled groans, loud enough to be audible over the sound of water, that indicated that Eli’s fervor had not waned. The sounds alone had been enough to drive Ocelot to distraction and his own bunk in search of relief. But they never spoke of what had happened, even as Eli began recovering more and more memories, including, Ocelot imagined, the night they had spent together shortly before Eli’s deployment. 

Over the years, Ocelot had come to treat his own sexual desires as sources of passing fascination. He never judged what his body seemed to want, but he also knew that he couldn’t always indulge it, beginning with the lessons learned during his extended infatuation with John. He accepted and appreciated sex when he could get it, even if the liaison was dictated by his mission rather than his own wants, but sex with someone he was genuinely attracted to? Well, that was some he got a little nostalgic about. So he wasn’t surprised to find himself reminiscing a little about having that lithe young body underneath him, about the sounds Eli had made as Ocelot had teased his cock. The shower incident had been entirely about giving Eli what he seemed to need in the moment, but it had also reminded Ocelot what lust felt like, even as his aging body tried to forget.

So as he ran his hands over the cold metal of his SAAs in his regular maintenance, he let himself imagine Eli’s body, water running down it as he pressed one hand against the wall of the shower and worked the other between his legs. He let himself imagine running his hands over the hard planes of Eli’s shoulders and stomach as the younger man hissed his impatience. Mostly, he imagined flashing blue eyes and a furrowed brow, teeth drawing back in a sharp retort. And those were the thoughts that carried him into sleep.

The next day, Ocelot did not hypnotize Eli. Instead, they sparred, with Eli’s questions continuing, though they had become more about clarifying details than about major moments -- the name of his CO in the SAS for instance, or the length of time he had spent in the UK based facility that Zero had shipped him to. Eli’s fighting skills had suffered from lack of practice, though by and large his body seemed to remember how it should move even if it struggled with the actual execution. His instruction had been piecemeal and sporadic; his early handlers had begun his training in hand-to-hand and weapons combat since he was old enough to walk, but after his escape, Eli’s only teacher until the SAS had been the streets. Besides honing his reflexes back to their original sharpness, Ocelot taught Eli some of the CQC moves he’d found most useful as a slighter man matching up against bulkier opponents. He also slammed Eli into the floor more than once, grinning broadly each time Eli glared up at him with cold fury. 

But Eli wasn’t an easy target for long. The day finally came when Ocelot started to throw Eli to the ground only to find himself pulled down as well, first on top of the blond, then underneath him as Eli rolled over to wrench Ocelot’s arm behind his back. “A very particular memory has come back to me,” Eli said, face close to Ocelot’s ear. There was an edge of threat in his voice, and Ocelot wondered if Eli was looking for a real fight, perhaps some kind of revenge for Ocelot’s past actions. Rather than struggling, Ocelot let his body relax, waiting to see what Eli would do next. Keep talking, it seemed. “A very particular memory of you, completely naked, saying that next time, I could fuck you.”

That was not what Ocelot was expecting. He swallowed. “Pretty sure I said maybe,” he drawled, trying to hide the sudden drop of his stomach behind nonchalance.

Eli’s lips grazed lightly over Ocelot’s jaw as he chuckled. “Well, now I want a yes or no.”

Ocelot seized Eli’s moment of distraction to push with his legs until he had rolled onto Eli’s stomach, across his body, and back onto his feet, releasing his arm from Eli’s grasp in the process. He looked down at the younger man. “Boy, I could ride you into next week and never break a sweat.”

“We’ll see about that.” Eli’s back arched slightly as he looked up at Ocelot with hooded eyes and a cocky smirk.

Now that looked like his Eli.

“You wanna try me?” asked Ocelot archly, lifting an eyebrow.

Eli huffed, getting to his feet. “You and your obsession with consent.” He closed the space between them and claimed Ocelot’s mouth in a brief but ferocious kiss. “I want to fuck you. Here. Now. Is that clear enough?”

Ocelot’s lips shifted into a tight, lopsided grin. “Bedroom,” he said, placing a hand on Eli’s chest and pushing him lightly in that direction. 

In Ocelot’s room, Eli wasted no time getting out of his clothes before turning to paw impatiently at Ocelot’s shirt while his lips found their way back to Ocelot’s mouth. The boy was all teeth, diving into intimacy like it was a fight and he wanted to have the element of surprise. Ocelot remembered only too well what it was like to be that young and enamored with an older man, the yearning to impress...and the desire to have someone put you in your place.

So Ocelot pushed Eli back onto the narrow bed, pinning him with his glare as he proceeded to carefully divest himself of his gloves, shirt, and boots. Eli settled back on his elbows, and his eyes settled on Ocelots crotch, where a bulge was visible, while the tip of his tongue darted across his lower lip. Instead of indulging him, Ocelot turned away from the bed to rummage through a dresser drawer, sure that Eli would enjoy the view of his ass just as much. The kid was already breathing heavily when Ocelot returned to the side of the bed. He tossed the shiny foil square of a condom onto the sheets before slowly undoing the front of his fly. “You wanna give me a little help here,” he purred to Eli. 

Eli didn’t need to be told twice, grabbing the waist of Ocelot’s pants and sliding them down his thighs. Ocelot stepped out of them, thoroughly enjoying the look on Eli’s face as he eyed the half-hard cock in front of him and that tongue darted out again. “Tastes as good as it looks,” Ocelot said, and Eli took his cue to lick the head with a quick swipe before kissing the tip. While Eli explored him with his mouth, Ocelot slicked his fingers with the lube he had retrieved from the dresser and, using his other hand to spread his cheeks, circled one around his hole before sliding it in. It had been a while, but his asshole accepted it readily, especially with Eli’s lips sliding over his cock. He worked the first finger farther in, then a second, closing his eyes to focus on the noises coming from Eli’s throat and scissoring his digits. His face went slack as he relaxed into the sensations, letting his free hand drop onto Eli’s head to pet the soft growing fuzz then trail down his face to cup his jaw as he sucked. “That’s real nice, Eli,” he said, feeling more than hearing Eli’s pleased hum in response. “Get that condom on.”

Eli pulled away from Ocelot’s cock and stretched out on the bed, tearing the condom wrapper with his teeth and rolling the rubber over his swollen member. “Think you can handle this?” he asked with a small sneer. 

Ocelot crawled on the bed to straddle his hip, grinding his ass over Eli’s shaft. “You realize me not being able to handle it means neither of us have any fun,” he chided. Eli’s lips shifted into a pout, and Ocelot chuckled lightly. “One day you’ll learn, kid.” 

Eli arched an eyebrow. “And you’re going to teach me, I suppose?” 

Ocelot ground against Eli’s erection again, drawing a hiss from the younger man. “Depends on how good a teacher you think I’d be.” He squirted more lube into his hand and rubbed it over Eli’s cock before lining up the head with his hole and settling himself down slowly. It took some time for Ocelot to be ready for any motion that could be considered fucking, just letting himself sink slowly and gently down Eli’s shaft. Eli didn’t seem to mind, if the mumbled litany of curses was any indication, and Ocelot felt was happy for the moment to just feel full. 

He started rocking his hips, placing hands on Eli’s chest to steady himself, slow teasing motions. Eli panted in time with his movements, hands grasping at Ocelot’s thighs and eyes glued to the point where their bodies met. Ocelot increased the speed slowly, beginning to make his own sounds of pleasure. A red flush creeping down Eli’s chest suggested his climax wasn't far off, and Ocelot felt him pull his knees up and plant his feet on the mattress to match Ocelot’s movements with thrusts of his hips. Adjusting the angle slightly, Ocelot threw his head back as Eli hit his prostate, letting the kid pound away at him with his hands gripping the older man’s hip like it was all he had to hold onto. Then Ocelot heard the sound that had been replaying in his dreams the past four years: a catch of breath, a brief silence, and a drawn-out groan as Eli tumbled over the edge of his climax. Ocelot’s hand found his cook and jerked for all he was worth as he bore down on Eli’s cock, quietly moaning as he spilled over his hand and across Eli’s stomach. 

He flopped over to lie on his side next to Eli, who had his eyes closed but shifted slightly to accommodate him after peeling off the condom and tossing it to the floor. Ocelot kept waiting for some smart remark, but it never came. Instead, Eli seemed to be drifting into sleep, his face softened not into the blankness Ocelot had been working to chip away, but into a genuine satisfaction. There was some stubbled on the jaw, and Ocelot couldn’t see those sharp blue eyes, but the elegant lines of Eli’s body, with one arm flung above his head while the other rested on his chest, more than made up for it. For once, Ocelot indulged his desire without the careful calculations of potential risks and planted a soft kiss on Eli’s temple. 

Eli didn't flinch away, but his face screwed up slightly. “You're such a pervert,” he said without opening his eyes. 

“It's entirely normal to show affection to your lover,” Ocelot answered. 

“I am not your ‘lover’,” Eli insisted, but his relaxed body language begged the question. 

Ocelot shrugged. “Whatever you say, Eli.” He got up and wandered into the bathroom to wet a rag at the sink, then returned to wipe the mess from Eli’s stomach and chest. “I can do that myself,” Eli snapped, but he made no move to take over the job, so Ocelot finished his work then threw the rag aside as he sat back down on the edge of the bed. The lube dripping from his ass was staining the sheets, but he didn’t care.

There was silence for a few minutes, and Ocelot was happy to let it stretch out, resting his elbows against his knees, watching Eli’s chest rise and fall, and enjoying the post-orgasm endorphins. But Eli couldn’t let a good thing last, eventually opening his eyes and saying, “So is this why you pulled me out of there? To get me in bed again?”

Ocelot smiled. Poor Eli, couldn’t believe anyone would want to do anything nice for him without ulterior motives. “This was just a bonus,” he answered. 

“So why did you come for me?”

“Do you need something besides the obvious? When I finally figured out where you’d disappeared to, I didn’t like it. Big Boss didn’t like it either. Hell, even Miller wasn’t happy with the situation.”

“So my father sent you instead of coming himself,” Eli huffed. 

Ocelot rolled his eyes. “I made Big Boss give me access his resources,” he corrected. 

Eli seemed to think this over. “So what is it you want from me?” he asked with narrowed eyes, an expression that was almost laughable given the vulnerability of his naked state.

Ocelot stood, feeling old and cynical about a world where a kid like Eli was always sure someone wanted something from him. “I don’t know, Eli. What do you want for yourself?” He’d meant the remark facetiously, a bit of snark to put Eli in a snit and make him drop the conversation. For Eli, though, it seemed to prompt a bit of inner turmoil; his brow furrowed deeper and his face hardened, but he was looking at the ceiling instead of glaring at Ocelot. That was fine by Ocelot. It was about time the kid figured out that his anger at Big Boss would only sustain him so far, that he needed some other purposes in his life. 

Eli was silent the rest of the evening. The following morning, he had disappeared. Ocelot could have tracked him down, but it seemed like a waste of time. Eli would turn back up soon enough.


End file.
